Fate Alchemist - A Regression Academy LitRPG

That evening, before venturing out to work on the Silent Wraith, Wulf rushed to his dorm room to complete the scissors.

He set them down on his desk, then, using his ability to shape primal material—and by extension, xerion—removed the old central pin of the scissors. From the pressure he applied to free it, it collapsed into a handful of fingernail-sized pebbles, which he stuffed back into his pocket.

Then, he used the new central locking pin that Seith and Kalee had worked on. First, he experimented with it. He could directly fuel it from his well of mana, but he could also use the aura granted to him by a potion to activate it.

When it activated, it separated, driving both halves of the construct apart with a satisfying click. When he wanted to put it back together, all he had to do was press it together, and the tension of the relfidium would do the trick.

He inserted it into the socket in both halves of the scissors, then locked it in place. It still spun smoothly—and perhaps more smoothly than before, given that rough xerion wasn't grinding against itself anymore—but now, he could unlock it.

Where another person would have to reach up to it with their hand, though, Wulf only had to use his aura.

To be certain it worked, though, he assessed it with the Field:

Fate Cutters (Unique)

Xerion scissors crafted by an alchemist determined to change his fate. With an assertion of will, they can amplify the user's transmutation skills and store all chaotic and orderly essences drawn from materials, up to one thousand three hundred and fifty-two units of either. Essences will not jump from one side of the scissors to the other.

The storage limit increases with each living creature whose fate is permanently altered by these scissors.

Both blades of the scissors separate with an expenditure of mana, maintaining their storage.

They will only function for their bonded maker.

The storage limit had already increased significantly, which at first made him tilt his head. But that must have meant that, by harvesting the essences of the ocean spirits, he had already increased its storage capacity. Spirits, of course, were living creatures.

He chided himself for not seeing that, but got over it quickly. He'd just improved his scissors significantly. Satisfied, he tucked them back into their sheath, then ventured down to the hangar to help with Wraith's repairs.

~ ~ ~

The next evening was Wulf's first tournament match. He ventured to the locker room with his storage pendant in-hand, then tucked his bag into a storage cabinet. He didn't have anything to change into, not like some of the other contestants' flashy uniforms. He'd seen a few Mages wearing silken robes or dresses in their family colours, or Rangers in greatcoats. Pilots? Well, all the others had covered themselves in their golems.

None were borrowing golems from the Academy. They all had their own, now, being second-years. Most had gotten fancy golems from their families over the summer, and Wulf supposed that was how his looked, too.

In a changing stall, he opened up his second storage pendant, then stepped inside and activated his own golem.

He'd made it last year, and hadn't used it much since, but he had to get back into the swing of things. Pouring an unfinished poison potion over its head, he imbued the stone with liquid and potion ingredients, then triggered it. He activated a potion, and in the eyes of the Field, he had turned the golem itself into a potion.

He willed it open with [Arm of the Alchemist], then stepped inside the golem. As a side effect of the enhanced Skill, the golem was technically a splatter potion. He didn't notice the slight nausea it caused him—his body resisted it.

But the same might not go for his opponents in the arena.

"Hrothen!" a voice called from somewhere outside the changeroom. "You're up! Get out here!"

Wulf marched his golem out from the storage pendant, then closed it. He opened his golem back up briefly, enough to put the pendant around his neck, then stepped out into the changeroom. Before marching out to the arena, he hoisted up his scissors.

The attendant, a non-Ascendant man, said, "Helmet down, son. All Pilots must show their face going into the arena. Can't count how many times someone's tried to pay someone else to do their fights for them."

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Wulf obliged, willing his golem's jade-green helmet to fold back, revealing his face as he marched out into the blindingly bright lights of the arena. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the bright beams of the mana lights.

First, he noted the odds. They were still listed as thirty to one against him.

On the other side of the arena was another second year, a Middle-Copper. A little weaker than Wulf in the eyes of the Field, but that didn't necessarily mean the boy was going to lose. Wulf had pulled off victories against people a higher stage than him, and so could his opponents. No need to be cocky.

But it seemed odd that the odds were stacked so far against him. They did know that he'd advanced a tier, right?

Judging by the attire, his opponent was a Mage. The orange and blue robes, certainly a family colour (they didn't match very well), the golden circlet around his long, black hair. As best Wulf could tell, he was a human.

He twirled his staff in a flourishing pattern, then conjured an ice shard out of empty air. An ice Mage. Often, they chose to draw on the moisture in the air instead of bringing their own water supply. Gave them more longevity, but less immediate power.

They were expecting him to stay away from Wulf, to keep him back, and wear him down with small hits. Either he'd run Wulf right to the time limit, and win by virtue of landing more hits throughout the fight, or he'd outlast Wulf.

That wasn't going to happen.

"Wulf Hrothen, our second transfer from the Istalis Academy!" Vae Kella's voice rang out around the arena, amplified by a construct. "He's a Pilot, and has a good track record of turning bad odds into excellent odds, but even he has never faced an opponent like this! Will his unusual choice of weapon help carry him to victory, or will it stand in his way?"

They probably thought this ice Mage was a good match for him, simply because he wouldn't be able to close the distance. They didn't know that Wulf had given his friends each an eyesight-enhancing potion to drink during the match, which would help him enhance his speed. He might not be able to attack directly with potions, but that didn't mean he'd stop being an alchemist.

"And against him, we have Remy Leffton, of the Leffton Staffmaker's Guild. A long, proud family of Mages—this foreigner upstart should be no match for Lefftons, even if Remy is of a less-advantaged aspect."

Wulf rolled his eyes at the last comment, then closed his helmet over his head. A moment later, the trumpet sounded, signalling the beginning of the fight. Wulf charged forward, and as soon as he began running, he felt his speed and strength increase. The others must have drunk their potions. [Bastion] activated.

With his sleek, polished golem, he split the air, and covered the distance between himself and Remy in a blink. Remy darted to the side just in time to dodge the charge, his eyes wide. He conjured a wall of icy needles behind himself, then twirled his staff and pointed it forward. The shards smashed into Wulf's golem, chipping the armour. Most cracked and deflected off, but one scored a direct hit on his shoulder pauldron, and it burst, kicking up a blast of green stone dust.

The good news was that Wulf had created the outer golem with alchemy and transmutations, and he could easily replace lost or broken components. He just couldn't let them wear him down too much, to the point that it did irreparable damage to the golem—or himself.

Remy darted back. Clearly, he had speed-enhancing Marks, because he was still much faster than a regular non-Ascendant. But his eyes were wide, and a look of fear and shock covered his face. He hadn't been expecting Wulf to be as fast as he was.

Wulf wouldn't let Remy regain his bearings. He closed the distance, plowing through Remy's barrage, chasing after the boy.

Instead of continuing to pummel him, Remy adapted. Smart. He cut off the barrage, darted to the side, and accumulated more and more shards behind him. Pulling moisture out of the air, he froze it, then held it in formation behind him. He stayed a few steps ahead of Wulf until he was ready, then unleashed the barrage.

The process repeated for a few minutes. Each time, Wulf held up his scissors, blocking as much as he could, but each time, the shards took a new chunk off his armour. It gave Remy just enough time to stay in front of Wulf.

Wulf needed something else, or he was truly going to lose.

When the next barrage of ice came, he launched himself back, pretending the ice had knocked him off his feet, then reached into the pocket of his pants and withdrew a pebble of xerion. He pulled his arm through his golem to do it, like he'd taken his arm out the sleeve of his shirt. Only at a close inspection would anyone notice, but no one was inspecting closely. When he put his hand back to the tip of his golem's arm, he passed the pebble through its hand. It was on the outside now.

As Remy charged in to deliver a finishing blow, or to force Wulf's surrender, Wulf placed the pebble between the blades of his scissors and filled it with both chaos and order.

Then he flung it at Remy.

It exploded without fire, creating a pulse of air and wind, and shattering the incoming ice shards. To an onlooker, it probably would've looked like an average defensive skill, but it exploded with enough force to send Remy sprawling onto his back. Wulf leapt to his feet and sprinted over. Remy tried to create a thin wall of ice between them, but Wulf turned his shoulder forward and smashed through it, then ran up to Remy and placed the tip of his scissors on the boy's chest.

"Yield," Wulf said.

Remy dropped his staff and held up his hands.

~ ~ ~

In the changerooms, Wulf found Varl, a couple other Lions, and Prince Athllas waiting for them.

"Most impressive," Varl said. "Two down. At this rate, you guys shouldn't struggle at all in the ranks of the Lions."

Wulf stared at the dark elf boy. Something was just ever so slightly…different about Varl today. Was it the tone of voice? Or…did his eyes have a slight orange tint? Wulf blinked, then pulled his golem's helmet back and rubbed his eyes. He was probably just exhausted from the fight.

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks."

"You are an excellent pilot, Hrothen," came a meek, timid voice from the back of the Lions' ranks. Prince Athllas. "You would've made an excellent candidate for a City Guard, were my father to be more open-minded to commoners."

"Thanks…" Wulf said, then continued on. He dipped his head. "My lord. I'll be in your little club soon enough, and hopefully, you may assess my skills closer."